


Wild & Untamed

by Vashti (tvashti)



Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interracial Relationship, Leah Not Being Awful, Marriage, Minor Character Death, Native American Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Submissive Wolves, Werewolf Politics, female werewolves, off-screen violence, omega wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvashti/pseuds/Vashti
Summary: "Eugenia."Her jaw clenched, but otherwise she didn't move."Is that why you're here? To lodge a complaint against your alpha?" Bran didn't think so, but he let his eyebrows climb in apparent ire nonetheless."No.  I have come requesting complete emancipation.  I want to be a lone wolf."Leah broke into peals of laughter.





	Wild & Untamed

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warnings:** Mentions of rape, implied sexual violence, referenced/implied violence against women
> 
> I've been working on this story on and off for...a year? More? The nature of werewolves, at least in the Mercy Thompson/Alpha & Omega verse, is problematic on many levels. (It's part of the reason why Mercy rebels.) Trying to throw a Black female wolf into the mix, one who is looking for independence, just made it worse. Okay, maybe not worse. Trickier? I don't know. Certainly more complicated as werewolf things sometimes look like human things but aren't...quite...the same.
> 
> Anyway, I tried to mitigate what I could, but your mileage may still vary. Please let me know what you think. If something is problematic, in the social justice sense of the word, please point it out to me and tell me why you believe it's so. I'm deeply curious to see if and where my thoughts jive with other peoples'.

"Another wolf hoping to take my place as your mate?" Leah asked her husband as she paused behind him long enough to read the printed email he held. Her tone was all innocent curiosity, but her scent spoke the lie far more clearly than her face would have.  Her face would be too open, too perfectly questioning, to be anything but an act. That and she knew how reading over his shoulder annoyed him.  If not for the basket of laundry in her hands, she might have taken the print-out from him.  Her scent, however, held an undercurrent of truth.  There was some nuance to what she had said that she truly believed. 

            Bran thought he could guess what it was, but chose not to address it.  That undercurrent was what had held her place at his side secure so long. 

            "It's unlikely that an old wolf like Eugenia Bellefleur is interested in anything remotely related to mating. Her own died not three years ago." Then into the brief pause he added, "They had been together for nearly two centuries."

            Leah made a vaguely sympathetic sound, but Bran could tell that she was at least partially mollified. Anything that drew and kept attention from Leah herself was likely to annoy her, so it was the best he could hope for. Her own mated relationship of nearly two centuries was hardly a grand love affair, after all. "So then why is she coming here?"

            "Her alpha is sending her."

            "Old and crazy then?" she asked, all pretense of innocent curiosity gone. 

            Frowning, Bran said, "Old yes, but I wouldn't have thought she'd be near the end of her life. Even with Guillaume dead." He shifted enough to half look at Leah instead of giving her his profile. "She's only a little older than you are, after all."

            Leah scowled as he guessed she would, but it wasn't nearly all that it could be.  She knew that he was teasing.  This pleased Bran but made him sad, too. Despite all his efforts, he'd become too connected with too many people lately. His sons and Mercy, always, but now their mates as well,  plus the very young wolf, Kara. If Asil, her mentor, wasn't such a pain in his backside, the old wolf might have to join the ever growing list.

            Bran needed Leah not to be on that list. And sometimes, during moments like this, it was painful to them both.

            Still scowling, Leah said, "Then why is she coming here?"

            "I don't know," Bran admitted.

            "Who is she traveling with?"

            "I don't know that either. Nathan didn't mention her escort is in his email."  He cocked his head to one side, as if looking at the print-out from another angle would give him a different answer. "It's not like Nathan to be secretive."

            "Is it like her?"

            Bran looked up from the email. "Are you suggesting that she has pressed her alpha into concealing the purpose of her visit?" Even Bran wasn't sure whether the idea made him feel incredulous or incensed – perhaps it was both.  He and his wolf liked order, but the Bellefleurs had also been trustworthy wolves since long before Guy had found and turned and married his bride.

            "Or maybe she asked him to keep her business private," Leah said, rolling her eyes. 

            "From the Marrok?"

            Bran could smell and hear Leah's spike of fear when she said, "From her own pack." But she did say it. She even managed to roll her eyes again.

            "And why not mention her traveling companion?"

            "Slipped his mind? I don't know." Leah's heart was fluttering in her chest.  "I have things to do," she said. Then she flounced off, as if their nearly cordial encounter hadn't almost ended in near disaster instead.

            Bran promised to make it up to her later.

            He also made a mental note to expect at least two wolves within a week. They would be driving down from the other end of Canada, after all. Then again, if Eugenia did most of the driving they could arrive as early as Thursday.

            And Charles thought his father was a menace behind the wheel. It was enough to put a small smile on Bran's face.

* * *

Eugenia Bellefleur arrived on Wednesday. Alone.

            Bran was gone into Missoula, but Leah was home. It was her surprise and sudden fear, hidden from the pack but sharp along their mating bond, that had him sending Charles and his mate to the house in his stead. Leah didn't like either Anna or Charles, for wholly disparate reasons, but they were both the most stable and intimidating wolves Bran could reliably call on at the moment. No matter how any of them felt about the other (Charles and Anna weren't fans of Leah, either), Bran wouldn't let anything happen to his mate if it was within his power to do so.

            And if it was outside his power, he'd call in someone who could get the job done for him.

            Even as he handed off his purchases to David, one of the wolves he'd brought along, Bran reasoned that whatever had scared Leah and continued to keep her on edge couldn't be too terrible. She was still only pulling on their mating bond instead of reaching further for the pack bonds through Bran. Leah wasn't brave enough to spare the pack if she thought using them would help her, but she wouldn't want to expose a weakness, either.

            Which didn't stop Bran from being a menace on the road all the way back to Aspen Creek. At least it was springtime. Although his reflexes were more than up to handling Montana's icy and snowy winter roads, other drivers weren't. He didn't want to be the cause of an accident either by someone overreacting to him or going into cardiac arrest behind the wheel. Springtime driving neatly mitigated those particular concerns.

            Musing on these mundane, sometimes amusing, often banal, thoughts helped keep his wolf at bay. It was a trick he had learned long ago: focusing on the minutia of the present.  It had served him well for far longer than he liked to think on.

            Seemingly between one breath and the next he was slamming the door of the Land Rover, striding towards his own front door.

            Bran could sense the four wolves inside—Charles would have sent out anyone else who might have been in the house—though with all the windows open to take advantage of the spring weather he could smell them easily.

            So there was nothing surprising about finding his mate, Charles, Anna, and Eugenia Bellefleur standing around his study.  Except Jenny, as he’d always known Eugenia.  Her husband had called her his “sweet Jenny”.  It was a little surprising to see the new wolf kneeling, a large purse at her side and her throat bared...and only because Leah hadn't transmitted anything warranting this level of submission from Jenny.  With Anna in the room, it shouldn't have been necessary.  But with her hair in a tight bun and her baker’s chocolate brown skin exposed to the shoulders in the wide collar of her shirt, her neck seemed even longer as she stretched.

            Then Bran remembered how dramatic Guillaume could be and how his mate had enjoyed it.  Not the way a vampire was dramatic.  Bran wouldn't have liked the couple as much if they had been. Guy had once said it was because they were such a startling picture themselves: a white, French-Canadian trapper and his ebony-skinned, negro, Northeast American bride; Jenny nearly six feet and Guy six inches taller; Guy's face covered in a shocking quantity of hair, even to people quite accustomed to outlandish facial hair; and Jenny with her crown of wild, needle thin curls that nearly made up for their difference in height.  Together they had been a handsome, if strange, couple.

            "I thought only Guy liked to make an entrance," Bran said as he came closer.

            "It is you who are making an entrance. I'm already here," Jenny said mildly.  Bran detected a touch of an accent, but it didn't sound like what he remembered of her old New England accent.  Then again the last time they'd met, Guy had done most of the talking.

            Someone — Anna — snorted.

            Bran came around to stand next to Leah in front of the his desk, facing Jenny. "Why the grand gesture?" he asked, instead of snorting too.

            "Because what I really want to do is curl up at her feet..." she twitched her head in Anna's direction. "...but this one won't let me." This time she twitched her head toward Charles. "I don't actually have a death wish. I thought this would put all the dominants at ease."

            A corner of Bran's mouth twitched. "Is it working?"

            Anna huffed. "No one's dead."

            "An unlikely occurrence with you around."

            "Or maimed," Charles added. He didn't sound amused, but there was no sign that he viewed Jenny as a threat either. His son was a very hard wolf to read, but Bran thought he had the knack of it most days. Charles was watchful but not overly wary of Jenny.

            "Also unlikely with Anna here."

            This time Leah snorted, but otherwise didn't speak. She didn't like Anna, mostly because when the other wolf was around she tended to voice thoughts and feelings—known to both herself and Bran, but carefully ignored—she usually hid under a carefully tended veneer of self-absorption. 

            Bran turned his attention back to Jenny, still kneeling with her throat on display.  (Curious that she didn't feel like prey.)  Of them, he thought it made Leah the most uncomfortable. His mate had been human during slavery's violent death throes in the United States.

            "Why do you want to curl up at my daughter's feet?" he asked.

            Here Jenny trembled only a little, and not with fear but tightly reigned longing.

            Curious.

            "She feels like my Guillaume."

            Her voice was husky enough that Bran and Charles checked her eyes for signs that her wolf was taking over. All they found were unshed tears.

            Anna took a step closer. "Your husband was an Omega?"

            "What's that?" Jenny asked at the same time Bran and Leah said, "No."

            Omegas were so incredibly rare that each was unforgettable. If Guillaume Bellefleur had been an Omega, Bran would have known and acted accordingly. He would have spoken to Leah and Charles about it.  There would have been no way that he could have, in good conscious, allowed the man and his mate to wander about as haphazardly as they had. It had been hard enough to set a submissive wolf free.  That his friendship with Guy dated from before Bran had unified the North American packs had helped.  Leah's observation, at the time, that Guy had a habit of always wandering back to the people and places he enjoyed had helped as well.

            Jenny almost lowered her chin at this.  "At least you don't know something about my husband that I don't," in tone that was amused but also wistful, as if she hoped for that very thing.

            "I'm an Omega," Anna said as if that was explanation enough.  Sometimes it was.  "How does your wolf feel?"

            Jenny closed her eyes, her head actually falling backwards instead of being held in a rigidly controlled posture: complete surrender. The scent of salt and grief soon filled the air as tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids.  "At complete peace for the first time in almost three years."

            "And this feeling used to happen around your husband?" Anna asked.

            "Oh yes."

            Anna threw a confused look at Bran.  Relative stranger though Jenny Bellefleur was, it was her husband they were talking about, and so Bran spoke aloud what he might have otherwise said mind to mind.  "I knew Guy Bellefleur personally. We were friends. I am absolutely certain that he was not an Omega."  Turning to his friend's widow, he commanded her to sit up properly.

            Tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes flowed down her cheeks as she did so, but they didn't smell fresh.

            "If Jenny's husband wasn't an Omega like Anna," Charles said, "why does her wolf have a similar reaction?"

            With a gesture, Bran indicated that Jenny should sit in one of the chairs scattered around the room. She smiled as she lifted herself up in a way that would have made normal humans uncomfortable outside of a circus act.

            "Eugenia herself knows the answer, I think." Bran didn't miss her wince at the use of her full name. So he tried it again. "Eugenia?"

            "I..." She shook herself.  "I don't know that there was anything particularly special about Guy, more than any wolf as old as he was. He was submissive. He was my husband. We loved each other deeply."

            "And he was a Wanderer," Leah added.

            Jenny gave Leah a broad smile, though she took care not to show teeth. "Yes. Guy found it difficult to stay still any more than a few years at a stretch. We once managed an entire decade under a particularly good alpha."

            His interest genuinely peaked, Charles said, "What prompted you to leave?"

            "Alston lost his last challenge. Guy wouldn't submit to the new alpha. We left."

            One of Charles’ eyebrows went up.  "They let your husband, a submissive, leave?"

            For the first time some of Jenny's own dominant nature leaked out. "They couldn't have stopped us if they tried."

            "What about the bloodlust?" Leah asked, more practically.

            Jenny shrugged. "I am not familiar with many submissives to know whether they're all resistant to the bloodlust of dominance fights--"

            "To an extent," Bran said.

            "--or if Guy was particularly immune because he was particularly submissive, or if it was some combination of being a submissive and his genuine love for Alston, but it didn't affect him.  He was sad...heartbroken.  I think maybe he might have been content to stay under Alston's leadership. But when it was over and flesh started to smell good to the others, Guy stood up and walked away, and I followed him.  We were clear out of the pack's territory by the next day."

            "You walk as recklessly as you drive?" Bran asked.  He remembered Alston and the High Creek Pack. The rugged terrain couldn't be crossed by most modern cars today, let alone the dainty things that existed during Alston's time as alpha.

            This time Jenny did show some teeth as she grinned, but it was more dog-grin than dominance challenge.

            Anna, they could see, was trying to keep her reaction to the implications behind Leah's question and Jenny's response to a minimum. She managed to ask the next logical question, however:  "What about you? You said you got up and walked away with your husband, but you're not a submissive wolf."

            "I most certainly am not," Jenny said, shaking her head for added emphasis.

            Glancing at her husband, Anna said, "I know female wolves get their rank from their husband regardless of their own dominant or submissive nature, and in some cases some of their power as well..." Here she glanced at Leah and Bran. Eyes lingering on Bran for a moment, she added, "I didn't know they could take on their mate's nature as well."

            "I don't think so," Jenny said, and now she was looking at Bran.  "I never felt like Guy, like a submissive wolf."

            Bran chuckled.  "You don't feel like one now."

            _Exert some of your influence on her,_ Bran asked his son, polite as you please.  One of Charles' eyebrows twitched, but he didn't otherwise acknowledge the silent command.

            "That's part of the reason I came, actually," Jenny said, oblivious to the byplay.

            "Please explain."

            "Before you do that," Charles broke in. "Go stand by the bookcase."

            Jenny gave Charles a curious look, glanced at the bookcase then stood, setting her bag down in the seat she'd vacated. It would put her furthest from the other two women but also within eyesight of everyone. She hadn't gone more than four steps when Charles spoke again.  "I've changed my mind. Please return to your seat."

            The "please" gave it an air of request, but they all knew it for the command it was.

            Shrugging, Jenny turned on her heel and went back to her seat. She'd only taken her handbag out of her seat to sit when Charles apparently changed his mind again.  "The bookcase really is better," he said placidly.

            "I think they're both fine," she muttered with a touch of annoyance to no one in particular, but did as ordered.

            Both of Charles' eyebrows rose.  "Is that a problem for you?"

            "If it doesn't bother the Marrok why should it bother me?" Her tone was diplomatic, even deferential, but the words themselves were a subtle challenge.  Did Bran realize that his son and subordinate was giving orders in _his_ house, under Bran's very nose? Was he going to let such an insult stand?

            "Doesn't bother me at all," Bran said, the words coming out in a lilting singsong.

            Smiling sweetly as she twisted on her feet to face the room again, Jenny said, "Why then should it bother me?" answering in like kind. As the lowest ranking wolf in the room, she carefully looked at no one.

            Anna coughed.  Leah chuckled.  Charles' eyes narrowed.  "Are you challenging me?"

            "My husband died so that I could live." All hint of pretense was gone. "I wouldn't dare treat his gift so lightly."

            "Then come here." Charles indicated she should stand before him.

            "Why?"

            Charles' lip curled. "Do I really need a reason?"

            Everyone could see the answer on the tip of her tongue. "Why are you toying with me?" Jenny's voice and body trembled. Some of it was anger, but some was her resisting the slow sure coil of Charles' more dominant will being used against her.

            "Do I really need a reason?"

            Jenny snarled.

            Bran frowned. She was reacting more quickly than he had expected.

            Proverbial hackles raised, Charles stalked toward Jenny. Anna watched intently, concern and curiosity drawing lines on her face. She could bring all of them down, _all_ of them, if things got out of hand, but she had seen her husband work before.  She might not know what was going on, but Bran trusted her not to react early without just cause.  Her very presence ought to keep things from escalating too far.

            Leah, however, drew ever so slightly closer to Bran.  Like many—most—wolves she was afraid of Charles, but she didn't like to show it.  She preferred to provoke him into rudeness instead, knowing Bran wouldn't tolerate it, not even from his son.  But Bran himself could only be pushed so far.

            Charles stopped out of arms reach, his and hers.  "You will come and stand beside me."

            "When you tell me why I should," Jenny snarled again.

            Anna glanced in Bran's direction. He shook his head once. He did not want her to step in.

            Charles bared his teeth at the woman in an unpleasant smile. "Because I said so." 

            He let the full weight of his dominant nature fall on Jenny. She staggered, suddenly breathing hard.

            "Come here."

            She went, whining and pulling against Charles' invisible leash all the while.  She dropped to her knees at his feet, neck bared.  "You should have allowed me to stay where I was," she ground out, eyes rolled in Bran's general direction.

            "Enough," Charles snapped.

            Anna flinched, but otherwise no one said anything.  Especially not Jenny Bellefleur.

            Bran pushed away from his coffee table.  "Where is your escort, Eugenia?"

            "I don't have one."  The accent he'd detected early on was stronger.

            "Why didn't your alpha send you with an escort, Eugenia?"

            "I left before he could, but I doubt Nathan would have sent me with one.  I'm an old wolf; he trusted me to make it here on my own." Before either Charles or Bran, or even Leah, could point out that that wasn't the point of an escort, she added, "I also think Nathan was afraid I'd steal any wolf he sent with me."

            Everyone's eyebrows climbed, except Anna's. Instead her brows furrowed. "Are there any female led packs?"

            A chorus of Nos answered her, to which Bran added, "Probably Nathan thought Jenny here would convince her escort to take her to mate and then run away from the pack as she and Guy used to do."

            "Why?" Anna asked, just as Jenny said, "Only half right."

            Charles tugged on the invisible leash of his will. "I said enough." There was no menace in his voice, only the quiet assurance of a dominant wolf expecting those lower in rank to obey him.  And he was.  Anna still flinched.

            Bran frowned.  "Let her go, Charles." 

            For a moment Jenny was all bristling energy.  If she'd been in her other form, her hackles would have been raised.  But it was gone between one eye-blink and another as she reasserted her human self-control. 

            When her throat remained bared, Bran said, "Enough, Jenny."

            It looked like she was going to say something to that, but she only lowered her chin.  She remained on her knees, albeit in a visibly more comfortable position, even after Charles stepped away.  Bran chose to ignore the insult of her back to him.  It was because of Charles that she was facing away from him, and her actions since Charles had stopped enforcing his dominance were entirely submissive.  Her body language was neutral—waiting.

            Bran looked at his son and his son’s mate.  "Thank you."

            Anna—beautiful, strong, and not quite whole—glanced between the still kneeling Jenny and her father-in-law.  She'd seen the worst of him.  She knew he wouldn't harm the woman without cause, but he could see that much of the situation had struck too close to home, and for that Bran was sorry.  He'd try to make it up to her, to her and to Charles, later.

            "We'll see you later," Anna said before standing turning for the door to the study and leaving.

            Charles said nothing, but gave his mate a head start of a few steps before following. 

            Bran waited until he heard them go down the front steps before speaking again.  "What aren't you telling us, sweet Jenny?"

            Leah touched his arm.  "Don't leave her there," she said softly.  Stiffly. "Please."  Bran suddenly had a vision of a bared brown back, crossed with old weals and fresh blood, and knew that it was both a memory and not his own.

            He looked at Leah.  She pulled her hand away.

            "Come sit, sweet Jenny," he said, brogue coming through as darkness swirled in his thoughts.

            Jenny rose gracefully to retake her seat on the comfortable sofa.  Her face was as carefully neutral as her body language. She looked in their direction, but didn't look at either of them.

            "You are a very dominant wolf, Jenny m'girl. There's not many that could stand even that long against Charles. I thought you weren't trying to challenge him."

            "I wasn't."

            Bran’s eyebrows rose, but instead of pushing back on her claim, he said, "Then why did you resist his command?"

            Jenny didn't answer, but she did go very still again, as if holding herself together. 

            "It wasn't meant to be a challenge," she said eventually.  "Only a question."

            "Questioning a dominant can be seen as a challenge."

            "Or merely a question."

            Bran turned that over in his head as he asked, "Why didn't your alpha send you with an escort?"

            "Because I didn't give him a chance to do so."  It was the same answer as before, but without the lengthy addendums.

            "Why didn't you give him the chance?"

            Bran watched as Jenny stilled herself, contained herself, once again. "I didn't think I needed the help. I am more than familiar with mountains, particularly in winter. Spring driving, by comparison, is a delight."

            "Unless it rains," Leah muttered. Bran huffed in amusement. Jenny remained carefully controlled.

            Bran decided to enter the fray here. "Why else did you not want an escort? It's customary."

            "For female wolves."

            "Males take traveling companions with them as well."

            "'Traveling companions' not 'escorts'.”  Rage rose up from her like heat radiating from a stove.  “Your companion is not expected to keep you safe from all danger as if you were an expensive toy going to its new owner." Jenny was near spitting.

            "Who would Nathan have tried to mate you to?"

            Her eyes locked on his in surprise for a moment before dropping. It took some of the heat out of her words when she said, "Himself if he could have, I suppose.  Though I'm sure any unmated male would have done.

            "As if Guillaume was just a man, just another mate." For the first time her eyes were bleeding out from human brown to black flecked amber.  "As if we had not lived and loved together for longer than that pup has been alive."

            "Eugenia."

            Her jaw clenched, but otherwise she didn't move.

            "Is that why you're here? To lodge a complaint against your alpha?" Bran didn't think so, but he let his eyebrows climb in apparent ire nonetheless.

            "No.  I have come requesting complete emancipation.  I want to be a lone wolf."

            Leah broke into peals of laughter.

* * *

Bran could tell every time Jenny Bellefleur's request came to Leah's mind. She was still giggling, just a little, thirty-six hours after the fact.

            As Bran didn't like chastising Leah in public unless he had to, he had directed Jenny to one of the guest rooms upstairs and promised to speak to her again on the matter of emancipation later instead of saying something to his mate, or, better, answering Jenny.

            She had turned her eyes towards Leah and said, "Thank you for that. I expected him to say no outright. Now I have a couple of days to flirt with freedom. I'll try to enjoy them."  Already dismissed, she'd left after that to get her things.

            Bran hadn't seen her since, although he'd heard her moving around the house as she got herself settled. What she had done with the rest of that Wednesday, he didn't know.

            He'd had his own business that her arrival had interrupted, and had spent most of the rest of the day out of the house. While most of those who had been Changed the previous fall were stable, there were always a couple who didn't make it. They had been dealt with only days before Jenny's arrival, but their families had yet to leave Aspen Creek. Bran had gone to visit them first.

            Those who survived needed to be placed if they weren't already members of a pack. Bran had gone to see them next.  On the way, he had been stopped by any number of regular Aspen Creek folk, humans and wolves alike, with questions and opinions about nearly everything under the sun.

            And so the late morning and afternoon had gone until Bran had had enough of wolves and politics and had gone home. Many scents from many people assaulted his nose as he'd entered his house, Leah's and Jenny's mostly and Jenny's the stronger of the two, so he knew she hadn't gone far.

            When, after coming down to dine with them at his invitation, she was immediately met with Leah's giggles, Jenny wisely asked permission to eat out on the porch. Bran had accepted her excuse that she'd been indoors too long and let her.  Leah had dissolved into a second giggling fit.

            That had been the first day.

            The second day Bran had the misfortune of running into Leah first thing. Grinning, she'd looped an arm around his neck and kissed him soundly, smiling all the way.

            Untangling her arms, he'd raised an eyebrow. "Still?"

            "I don't get to see the Marrok caught flat-footed too often."

            "Decided to savor the moment, have you?" He'd kissed Leah's knuckles to take the censure out of his words.

            "Absolutely."

            After that he'd not seen either of the women currently residing in his house again until he ran into Jenny walking down Charles and Anna's driveway after lunch. Her hair had still been pulled back in that severe style. A raised eyebrow from him had gotten a chuckle from her...although not at his expense.  For a moment Bran was inclined to trade Leah for Jenny. He'd felt his wolf turn over and put his muzzle under his metaphysical paws in reaction to the passing thought.

            Unaware of the internal byplay, Jenny had spoken first: "I was apologizing for my conduct the other night."

            "My son and his mate understand wolf politics better than most."

            "I'm sure they do.  Though I have lived most of my life in God's backcountry, even I know Charles Cornick's reputation.  Married folks politics is a little different, though."

            Bran's eyebrows, which had gone back to neutral, rose again. Jenny had colored strongly enough to be seen under her rich brown skin.  Her confident posture hadn't wavered, however.  "My parents taught me to stay out of married people's business, but I felt that I was already in theirs. And, by rights, I owed your beta an apology for my defiance."

            "All you did was ask questions," Bran had said, tossing her arguments from that night at her feet.

            "Unwise questions can cause harm. And how could anyone want to hurt such a one as Anna Cornick?"

            At her words, old anger had pricked along Bran's skin.  The emotion had been strong enough that Jenny had rocked back on her heels and didn't shift forward until he'd been fully in control again.  "It's Anna's story to tell," he'd told her before she could ask.

            "Guy swore that you couldn't read minds."

            Bran hadn't answered. It was better to let people come up with their own fantastic stories for him. It kept them safer in the long run.  Instead he'd said, "I'll give you my decision tonight."

            Jenny's eyes had flicked over her shoulders in the direction of the house.  "Thank you." 

            Though she hadn’t mentioned either Charles or Anna, her longing to have them at the dinner had been clear.    

            A sudden breeze had tugged at their loose clothing but not a hair shifted on Jenny. "Why do you no longer let your hair down, sweet Jenny?"

            She'd stiffened at the, mostly, innocuous question.  “Sweet Jenny” was what Guy had always called his wife, both in Bran’s hearing and in their correspondence.  Bran had added her reaction to the list of new curiosities surrounding Eugenia Bellefleur, turning it over in his mind at different points during the day.

            "I'll wear it out tonight."

            Bran had taken his leave, then, without responding to her words.  The suggestion that she visit Asil's greenhouse (the wily old wolf would let her in at least once) sat unspoken in his mouth. Maybe tomorrow, he'd thought.

            Home now, he could scent both Leah and Jenny from the door even with all the windows open and a steady spring breeze.  He was sure that Leah had been home longer.  He found his wife in the kitchen getting things together for dinner. "What are we making?"

            "Jenny and I are making dinner. Want to set the table?"

            Bran knew that it would have been a command if he was anyone else, if only an implied one, so he pretended it was the question she presented it as.  He didn't take well to being ordered.  "I suppose I could do that. What are we having?"

            "Surprise."

            "I've never heard of that one before. Does it somehow involve the lamb thawing on the sideboard?" He couldn't smell it — too cold still — but it was there plain to see.

            Leah huffed, genuinely annoyed...probably with his unwillingness to play along. 

            "That would be my cue," Jenny said as she entered the kitchen.  She pulled an apron from the peg on the pantry door and pulled it over her head to tie it on. "Guy had a knack for entering rooms just as things were heating up," she said as she pulled the cloud-like mass of her hair out of the apron-neck. In three well-practiced motions, she twisted it into an unstable looking knot that kept it away from her face without being as severe as the bun she’d been wearing.  Wild, knitting-needle thin curls floated around her head.

            "No one ever wanted to upset their submissive wolf by arguing in front of him unnecessarily."

            "And that worked?" Bran asked, knowing full well that it did.  He didn't particularly like fighting with Leah, however, so he took the opening.

            "It did." Jenny approached the sink and turned on the tap. "Unless the fight was serious."

            Leah snorted. "So the two of you never had an argument. You were the picture of true love."

            Jenny grinned at the water sluicing over her soapy hands.  "Guy did have a knack for leaving a room before I could truly blow up at him if he thought the argument was frivolous."

            "What if you didn't think it was frivolous?" Leah asked, eyebrows at her hairline.

            "I'd follow him. Chase him around our home, chase him into the forest, if I thought that was what was required to gain his attention. If he was right, the chase was usually enough to burn off whatever dominant induced ire had been sparking. If I was right, then we were in for something truly spectacular."

            Bran caught another flash of teeth against her deep brown skin, but she smelled more of salty tears and grief than fond remembrance.  "Why did Nathan want you to be mated so soon after Guillaume's death?"

            "Did I say that?" she asked, a note of wonder in both her tone and scent.

            "No," Bran said, "I did."

            She nodded slowly. "And I said that Nate probably wanted me for himself."

            "Or that any unmated male would do," Leah added, her scorn for the alpha obvious.

            Jenny nodded again as she dried her hands on a tea towel. "Yes, I did say that."

            "Why?" Bran pressed. "All unmated females belong to the alpha."

            If they'd been in wolf form, both women's ears would have flattened. Leah, he was sure, would have growled had anyone else reminded them of the unwritten law. And if he'd been anyone else he might have felt compelled to remind them that it wasn't his law, but the law of their kind.

            The words seemed to have snapped Jenny out of her brief fugue state. "I didn't say already?"

            But now she was teasing, playing. "Jenny…"

            She flashed him a smile before composing himself. "I wasn't joking when I said that Nathan is probably worried that I'd steal a wolf or two away from him." When Bran said nothing further, she added, "I'm more dominant than he is."

            "You know this?"

            She shook her head. "I'm not certain, but I'm strongly inclined to believe it. Which didn't matter when Guy was alive. But now…"

            "But now." Bran nodded as he gathered things to set the table. "And you think that's why he wants you mated."

            "Pack magic and pack bonds would make me lower."

            Leah's lips curled in an unpleasant smile as she worked on their dinner. "You think he's scared of you."

            Jenny shrugged. "He's nothing if not a practical pup."

            Passing behind her, Bran casually cuffed her. It did no damage with her hair a soft dark cushioning cloud, but, "That pup is still your alpha unless I say otherwise."

            "Yes, Bran." She glanced back at him, an unsteady smile on her face. He'd called her alpha a pup, after all.

            "You're right about Nathan being practical. The question is if he's scared." Bran went into the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of cold water. "Should he be, sweet Jenny?"

            "He won't let me go."

            "That's not an answer to my question."

            "He won't let me mourn."

            "Even if that were an answer to my question, Eugenia, three years is a long time."

            "It's nothing against two hundred years of loving one man with all that I am!"

            The sound of Leah cooking on the stove filled the sudden silence. She never stopped moving but Bran could sense her strong curiosity. Her silence was more surprising than Jenny's outburst.

            The other woman dropped her head. "I apologize, Bran. I should not have spoken to you in that way."

            "You shouldn't have."  But...  “But I understand.”

            Jenny's head came up and she dared to skim her eyes across his.  "So you know what it's like? For someone else's life to be the reason why you live?"

            "Then why are you alive when Guy is dead?" Leah spat.

            "He died so I _could_ live," Jenny answered. It was hardly the first time it had come up, but it was the first time she sounded lost and alone.

            "'Greater love hath no man than that he lay down his life for a friend,'" Bran quoted.

            Jenny nodded, head hanging ever the lower. "I can't imagine it's any less than a man for his wife."

            Bran came to stand close to her, close enough for her to place her head on his shoulder. "How long did Nate give you before he started pushing you to accept a new mate?"

            "A week after the funeral. Ten days after Guillaume died."

            Leah made a rude sound. "That's disrespectful. So you've spent the last three years avoiding handsy wolves instead of mourning your husband."

            Jenny nodded. Soon she was running her cheek against Bran's collar, though she had to curl over to do it. "Please. Please let me stay. I'm old and I'm tired and I am almost out of whatever patience I learned loving a submissive wolf." Jenny twined both her arms around the nearer one of Bran's, like a lonely child desperate for the comfort of companionship.

            "I can't let you go, Jenny," Bran said, sighing deeply.  With his free hand he reached into the loose knot of her hair and scratched at her scalp. "You must know that."

            "I mustn't know anything," she protested as she pressed her cheek into him.

Tightening her arms around him, she contorted her neck so that she could look up at him despite their height difference.  "Do you know that when Guy first met me, I was living alone in the Canadian woods, trapping and hunting and living off the land. The middle daughter in a family of daughters born to free negroes in New England. I defied my father's protestations and my mother's tears. I burned the aspersions of my sisters in the fireplace of my first cabin.

            "When Guy met me I'd already survived one winter. I'd already been assaulted on my way North. The day before he met me I'd successfully shot a trapper attempting another assault. I'd evaded attempts to sell me into a slavery I'd never known. I'd been cheated in trade and learned better.  And the only reason why Guy didn't have to disappear from my life long enough to convince me that he was kin to the big Frenchman I had so reluctantly befriended, was because I had dared to shelter a  mail-order bride from the brute she had married in good faith.  It was her husband that I’d shot."

            "What happened to the bride?" Leah asked.

            "After Guy was sure I would survive being turned, he went and found her hiding in the woods. She was well on her way to starving to death. When she was better, we gave her my cabin.  She lived there until her own natural death fifty years later. She remarried a widower. They never had children."

            "And her first husband?"

            "Guy finished what I’d started when he came upon the man and his men attacking me and Rosalie in the cabin.  And he killed the men, too," Jenny sighed. "I'd already sent Rosalie into the woods."

            She sighed again, body relaxing further, as Bran's blunt fingernails moved along her scalp. "That's the woman who became a wolf. That's the wolf I am,” Jenny said into his neck, her old New England accent strengthening.  “The husband from whom I take my rank is dead. Nathan is a petulant child too afraid to admit that he can no longer hold me."

            Bran's fingers paused in her hair. "Any of my alphas can always appeal to me, Eugenia."

            Grinning into his neck, Jenny said, "That's why I had to appeal to you first."

* * *

Bran sat in his study, eyes on the dancing flames in his fireplace. The answer to Eugenia Bellefleur's problem should have been easy: send her back to her alpha with a warning to Nate to treat his female wolves with more consideration. They were few and far between, and he was blessed to have any, let alone an old lobo like Jenny Bellefleur. He'd been lucky to have The Wanderers call his pack home at all. That the surviving Wanderer was female should accord her greater respect, not less. It certainly shouldn't have him acting out of fear.

            But Nathan Ogilvie _had_ acted out of fear, and in so doing had tacitly acknowledged that Jenny was more dominant. If she'd been a male wolf, the other pack members would have already been pushing her to challenge Nate for leadership.

* * *

It shouldn't have made sense that someone as vain as Leah was, and as powerful as she pretended to be, would enjoy doing laundry—unless you remembered that electric washer-dryers were still a relatively novel invention. Since most old wolves coped with the never-ending march of time by forgetting how much of it had marched past them, Bran and Leah liked to pretend that she put up with doing laundry for selfish reasons—town was too far away; assuming the girls at the drop-off even knew what to do with her precious delicates, Leah wasn’t convinced they wouldn’t steal them; no one, not even silk thieves, should be subjected to Bran’s underthings. 

             “You love my ‘underthings,’” he’d tease when she that was her excuse of choice.  Like most old wolves, she had modernized well but some habits were ingrained.  And the truth was, Leah hated his underwear and small clothes.  If anything was going to be sent out of the house to be washed, they would have been. 

            Instead, Bran would invariably find a small basket of them on the leather chair in his half of their bedroom or, occasionally, on the desk in his study for Bran to take care of himself.  Otherwise, Leah enjoyed the luxury and easy self-sufficiency of a washer-dryer—how the washing machine cleaned while she did whatever she pleased; how the dryer took her wet things and gave her back soft, scented warmth.

            This in turn meant that most of their better conversation happened while Leah’s hands were busy folding and hanging clothes and linens.  Bran didn’t know what about the action soothed her shallow, shrewish nature, but he recognized and appreciated it nevertheless.  More importantly, he tried to take advantage of it when he could.

            One eyebrow curving as Bran set his basket of unmentionables opposite the regular laundry, Leah expertly flipped the tail of her long braid over her shoulder.  “And what can I help you with this Saturday morning?”

            Pleased by the lack of bite behind the words, Bran shrugged.  “Maybe I just want to fold laundry with my wife.”

            Leah chuffed, but didn’t say anything.  It happened—occasionally. 

            Silently, they folded clothes together.  When Bran’s pile invariably ran out before Leah’s, he reached across and pulled a rich green towel out of Leah’s pile and continued folding.  They worked in easy silence, even sharing a moment of companionable amusement when they both reached for the same shirt.  It pleased his wolf and, he sensed, his wolf’s mate.

            Eventually there were only bedlinens left.  By unspoken agreement, Bran came around from his side of the bed, picked up the trailing edge of the sheet Leah had pulled out of the basket, and helped her fold.  Carefully watching her body language helped them to maintain the low, relaxed energy that always seemed to wrap around Leah when she was able to do the laundry uninterrupted. 

            It was into this atmosphere that she broke the silence: “What are you going to do with Jenny?”

            They took two steps towards each other, arms outstretched to maintain the tension in the wide, now-square, sheet between them.  Leah’s fingers brushed Bran’s as she took his corners.  She raised the sheet above her head so that the new edge was closer to shoulder height, rather than making Bran stoop. 

            Recognizing and appreciating the gesture for what it was, he waited until he could see her face again to admit, “I’m not quite sure.  The laws concerning female wolves are not only set in stone, but even older than I am.”

            A flare of angry energy spiked from Leah.  Just as quickly, though, it had settled again leaving only Leah’s narrowed lips as evidence that it had been there. 

             “On the other hand, Nate’s behavior is a tacit admission that he is concerned for his power-base.”

             “And that concern is named Eugenia Bellefleur.”

            Bran nodded.  “Where did you send her?” he asked.  Together they shook out the wrinkles in the squared sheet.

             “Into town for some odds and ends we need,” Leah answered nonchalantly, but Bran could smell a thread of worry.  Leah began to fold the left side of the sheet over the top, and Bran followed behind an instant later.  “I would have driven with her, but she said she wanted to walk.  I’m sure she was happy for any excuse to get out of the house.”

            They took two steps towards each other to bring the now narrow sheet together.  Bran’s fingers gently closed around Leah’s.  “Thank you.”  Then he let the sheet go.

            Warmth flared from Leah as she shrugged.  She made the last, shorter fold and turned away.  Bran already had the next sheet ready when she turned back. 

             “You know,” she said, stooping to catching the trailing end of the sheet, “listening to her last night and the night before, it’s almost as if Guy was her alpha and not Nate.”  Leah brought up the long side in her left hand the folded the longer left side of the sheet over the top, Bran half-an-instant behind her.  “Nor the alphas of any of the packs they’ve belonged to,” she added more softly as they shook the wrinkles out of the long rectangle between them.

             “Oh?”

             “Jenny went where he went.  She stayed where he stayed and left when he left.  She took so many of her cues from him, Nate had no idea how dominant Jenny really was until well after Guy was dead.”  Leah frowned.  Perhaps, Bran thought, because she and he had never been that in tune with each other—had never even tried—and couldn’t ever imagine being.

            It was only when his eyes caught hers, that Bran realized he was frowning, too

* * *

Charles’ frown was not unexpected when Bran relayed his conversation with Leah.  “You don’t agree with Leah?” he asked his son.

             “No, I do.”

             “And that’s the problem.”

            Charles’ frown deepened instead of admitting his father was right. 

            Which prompted a grin from Bran. 

            Charles scowled. 

             “What do you think Anna will say?” he asked his son, still smiling.

* * *

In a room full of dominant wolves, Anna not included, Jenny did a remarkably good job of fading into the background.  She and Leah had appeared to be thick as thieves as they made dinner together and set the table.  Sitting with the others, Jenny was serene and self-contained: she passed around dishes and made quiet conversation, blithely ignoring the byplay between Leah and Charles.  Even the mass of her near-black, densely coiled hair had been tamed with a wide ribbon.  If he hadn’t witnessed it for himself, Bran would have never believed the dominance battle Charles and Jenny had gotten into not four days earlier.  She was as effected by the wolves around her as lake water on a windless day. 

            Ignoring the conversations around him, Bran gestured towards Jenny with his forkful of steak and said, “I can see now how Nate was fooled.”

            Silence immediately descended on the table.  No one except Anna would meet his eyes, but Bran concentrated on his meal rather than allow himself to be distracted by either the questions or fragile emotions he’d find in his daughter-in-law.

             “What do you mean?” Jenny asked, fully present in the meal for the first time.

            Bran, however, was chewing.  Instead of pressing him, Jenny settled into an almost unnatural stillness as she waited him out.  Bran pointed his fork at her again.  “See, that.”

             “What?”

             “When you want to, you play the role of a submissive wolf to perfection, sweet Jenny-girl.  Your alpha taught you well.”

            The temper that flared from her was almost as vibrant as she had been passive.  “Nate taught me—”

             “Absolutely nothing, I’m sure,” Bran said calmly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.  “It’s clear to me that Nate is not, and never was, your alpha.”

            Smug pleasure traveled down the mating bond from Leah, as a wave of surprise and happiness rose from everyone else at the table.  Anna looked ready to jump up and hug her father-in-law, though it would have meant climbing over the table to do so.  Their eyes met briefly, hers shining with happiness and pride.  At him? 

            Bran ruthlessly throttled the emotions that wanted to rise up in response.  He’d always loved his children too much.

            For her part, Jenny was awash in bright and acrid surprise.  Whatever she had expected from the dinner conversation, and probably in regards to Nathan Ogilvie, Bran’s pronouncement hadn’t been it.  “What does that mean?” she said in a voice that was far more steady than she looked.

             “It means that as an unmated, alpha-less female, you should have been sent or escorted to Aspen Creek as soon as you were able to travel.”  Here Bran’s voice took on a decidedly less playful tone.  “Nate’s behavior violates both the Marrok’s law and werewolf custom.  He will be informed and punished, and his pack fined.”

            Tension hummed around the table.  Even Charles, the most stoic face at the table, looked ready to get up and mete his father’s justice if only given the word. 

             “Does that mean I’m free?”

             “Of Nathan and the Saguenay Pack, yes.  Of other wolves, no.  Welcome to the Aspen Creek Pack,” Bran said with a little smile.  “We’ve been waiting for you.”

            Instead of the grin he was expecting—Jenny and Guy had always enjoyed a good tale of reversal—Jenny covered her face and sobbed.  The dark mass of her hair fell forward and softened the view of her face. 

            Anna rushed to her side while Leah shot Bran a dirty look and stood up.  For a moment it looked like she would say something, but instead she threw her napkin onto her half-finished meal and stormed into the kitchen. 

             “Da,” from Charles.

            Bran sighed.  “Rest, sweet Jenny,” he said out loud for everyone’s benefit, even as he put the command into Jenny’s mind. 

            Anna caught her around the shoulders as she slumped forward, instantly relaxing into exhausted sleep. 

             “Charles,” Bran said. 

            His son immediately stood and went around to the woman’s other side.  With Anna holding her up, he shifted Jenny’s chair back enough to lift her up and out.

             “Hers is the guestroom down the hall, furthest from the stairs.”

            As Charles left with his burden, Anna came around the table to stand beside her father-in-law.  “It will be better in the morning,” he told her as he watched his son and a woman he had long considered a, admittedly distant, friend leave the room.

            Anna’s arms went around his shoulders and peace enveloped his soul.  Bran relaxed in a way he rarely ever could.  “You did a great job,” she said into his hair.

             “Thank Leah.”

            She pulled away and leaned down to peer into his face.  “Really?”

            The little half-smile was back when he said, “Really.”

            The face she pulled before disappearing from view was half consternation and half distrust.  Hugging him again, Anna laid her cheek against the crown of his head.  “I guess miracles do happen.”

            Bran chuckled and patted the arms wrapped around his shoulders.

* * *

Later that night Bran stood in the doorway of Leah’s bedroom, watching as she pulled her things together for church in the morning.  She was very pointedly not paying him attention.  If he were a better man, he would have let her have her tantrum, let her feel her frustration, and try talking to her in the morning.

            He might not acknowledge that he was an old man, but he would certainly admit to not being a better one.

             “Not pleased with my decision?”

            And because she was a proud woman who also rarely knew when to let something be, Leah’s eyes snapped to his momentarily, just long enough to bite out, “No.”

             “Hoping I’d set her free?”

            _“Yes.”_

             “Even lone wolves need a pack sometimes, Leah.  But you should be proud of what you helped do for Jenny today.”

            Leah scoffed.  “Gave her a different leash?”

            Bran felt himself bristle and quickly brought the emotion under control.  He wasn’t averse to using power and fear if he felt it was necessary.  Using them to fix marital annoyances wasn’t “necessary”.

             “We all belong to someone, Leah.”

             “Even the great Marrok?”  Her tone was mocking, but she knew.  She knew.  And if she didn’t, then she was stupid as well as shallow and self-centered.

            Bran didn’t answer, but from the color rising up her neck and along her ears, he knew he didn’t have to, but sometimes the words had to be said—for himself: “The Marrok most of all.” 

* * *

Eugenia Bellefleur did not have a voice worth remembering.  In that, she was on par with most of the congregation in attendance at Aspen Creek’s non-denominational church.  She made up for her lack of ability, however, with presence.  Sitting at the front of the church, Bran couldn’t see what the congregation’s reaction was to the old wolf, but it didn’t take long for the reverend to start directing much of his message towards her as Jenny brought her whole self to bear instead of fading out halfway as many were wont to do.  Being a believer wasn’t mandatory for members of the Aspen Creek pack, but regular church attendance was.  It stood to reason that a decent portion of the congregation would zone out at some point.

            Jenny never did. 

            Bran almost laughed when the reverend came down to shake hands and reached for Jenny’s first.  Grinning, she took his hands and skillfully directed him towards Bran instead of actually greeting the man.  The reverend seemed to come to himself, but only for a moment.  “What a charming young woman,” he said to Bran.  “It’s rare to find someone so young so engaged in the Word.”

            Grasping the reverend’s hand in both of his, Bran broke into the laughter he’d been trying to hold back for half the service.

            The reverend frowned.  “She’s a wolf then?”

            Nodding, Bran said, “Though that’s not why I’m laughing.  I imagine Mrs. Bellefleur was particularly engaged today because of your message.”

             “ ‘His Love Remains’?  Mrs. Bellefleur did seem to perk at the subject.  Makes me glad I didn’t go with the longer.”

             “Oh?”

             “Oh yes.  ‘Heaven and Earth Pass Away, but His Love Remains.’  Quite the mouthful, wouldn’t you say?”

             “Perhaps a little.”

            The reverend smiled, patting the nearer of Bran’s hands with his free one.  “And how are you, Bran?  I know this is a difficult season for you with the new wolves, and what must needs doing.”

            Which turned conversation fully away from Jenny, until the reverend moved on to speak to other congregants waiting a respectful distance away.

            Neither Leah nor Jenny were within sight when Bran looked up, though he could smell them interwoven with the congregation.  Charles and Anna were also “missing.” 

            Bran decided to follow Anna’s scent trail, knowing it was likely to be the most circuitous, and take time to greet and speak to the pack and their families as he did.  He liked the relaxed nature of Sundays.  Even the non-believers in the pack seemed to appreciate it.  That the reverend tended towards brief messages, and away from those concerning fire, brimstone and/or hell, probably helped.  Bran also tried to make himself more available to the town after services were over.  A forty-five minute service was a small price to pay for free access to the Marrok.

            It was another thirty minutes of meandering around the church, talking to people, making connections or appointments or promises as needed, before Bran spotted his daughter-in-law talking to a young mother.  Both young women had a small child in arms, while a little boy ran in and around their legs.  The mother, Elodie Paul, occasionally snapped a command when the boy strayed too far.  Anna danced and rocked in place, simultaneously amusing the little girl in her arms and physically blocking the boy with her legs. 

            The little boy made a break for freedom in Bran’s general direction.  He scooped the boy up with ease, swinging him high in the same motion until the child stared down at him.  “Hello,” he said.

            Grinning wildly, the boy waved chubby sticky fingers at Bran’s face. 

             “Are you trying to run away?”

            He nodded fiercely.

             “Why’s that?”

            He shrugged, or tried to.  Bran laughed and made as if to toss him in the air.  The boy was young enough that the sensation of rising and falling was enough to make him shriek with laughter without ever leaving the safety of Bran’s grip.

             “Again!” the boy shouted.  So Bran did it again.

             “Again!” the boy shouted.  So Bran did it again.

             “Again!!” the boy shouted a third time. 

             “Nuh uh.  No more for you, Jackson Paul,” his mother said, intervening before Bran could “toss” the boy again.

            Bran lowered the pouting little boy, Jackson, positioning him to face his mother.  “Aw, Mom.”

            He was tempted to echo little Jackson, but he could see the trepidation flitting around the corners of Elodie Paul’s eyes and mouth.  Werewolves were notorious for the affection they held for children.   They were more rare than female wolves, and far, far more fragile.  Children inspired the protective instinct of all the but the most insane.  Deliberate harm to a child was an instant death sentence, and it needed no enforcer.

            But Bran could not forget that he was the Alpha of the Aspen Creek pack, and the Marrok over all.  It seemed Elodie Paul couldn’t forget it either.  Bran wouldn’t harm little Jackson, but he wasn’t an ordinary wolf either

             “Listen to your mother,” Bran said gently instead of giving into temptation as he lowered little Jackson to the floor.

            From the expression on the boy’s face, he wasn’t sure that was actually advice worth following.

             “He must be quite a handful,” he said to Mrs. Paul.

            Grinning down at her oldest, already trying to make a break for the open door beyond Anna’s dancing legs, Elodie agreed.  “But it’s worth it.”

            Bran nodded.  “It is.”

            Their eyes briefly, very briefly, met as they shared a look of parental understanding.  Elodie Paul looked away first, eyes going to her son.  Who had finally gotten away from Anna.  “Jackson Rene Paul!  You get back here!”

            Bran and Anna winced.  “All three names,” she said. 

             “Never a good sign,” Bran agreed, watching as the irate young mother expertly juggled one toddler in arms while chasing another. 

            Now that she wasn’t having to stop little Jackson Paul from running away, Anna’s movements were fluid and graceful as she continued to rock the littlest Paul daughter in her arms.  If he didn’t already know how much his daughter-in-law longed for a child, he would have watching the pair of them.  Love and longing were plain on Anna’s face.  As if she could hear the ache in his heart for her, she said, “This might the only thing I regret about who I am now.”  She glanced up at him.  “That’s not so bad, is it?”

             “Pretty common, I think.”

            It took a moment for Bran to realize that Anna was swaying to accompaniment.  He’d heard the double-bass and organ, of course, but his brain had categorized them as white noise, along with the many conversations still being had around them.  Now the conversations were fading, but the music remained.  Anna, Bran realized, must have been moving to the music all along.

            As expected, it was the Freeman twins on their instruments.  They were as different as two people with one birthday could be, but they both shared a love and gift for music.  One that had, apparently, snared Jenny Bellefleur.

             “You’re okay?” he asked Anna.

             “Oh sure.  I should probably go find Elodie anyway.  Knowing Jackson, she won’t be able to make it back to fetch little Jemma.”

             “Maybe find Grant while you’re at it.  I’m sure his wife would appreciate the help.”

             “Good plan.  I’ll see you later.”  Anna reached up and kissed Bran on the cheek, simultaneously allowing the youngest Paul child to smack her chubby baby fingers against his cheek.  Bran caught them between his lips and pretended to make a snack of the baby girl’s fingers.

            Jemma Paul shrieked with delight before snatching her hand back.  Almost immediately she stuck her hand out for more.  Laughing, Anna bodily turned away from Bran.  “You would have made a good grandfather,” she said.

            He shrugged.  “Maybe I still will.”

            Anna’s smile was a little sad, a little thoughtful, as she walked out of the sanctuary.  Bran watched as she picked up the game of nibbling baby Jemma’s fingers as they went.

            A moment later he had sidled up to his houseguest and soon to be newest pack member.  “Guy was a gifted musician.  We used to play together.”

             “You and he and Samuel,” she murmured without looking at him.  “He told me stories.”

             “Not all of them I hope.”

            Jenny grinned.  Bran huffed, but didn’t say anything either.  Instead they watched the Freeman twins trance-like concentration.  If either sibling knew they had an audience, Bran would be surprised.

            Behind them the congregation was slowly making their way out of the sanctuary to various destinations: the fellowship hall in the basement, personal homes, walks in the woods to enjoy the beautiful spring weather, and some just standing beside their cars in conversation.  Eventually only Bran, Jenny, and the Freeman twins remained in the sanctuary.  The conversation and laughter of the ladies working in the church office were muffled behind sturdy oak doors, occasionally bursting forth like colorful fireworks as the Reverend moved between his office, the sanctuary, and the church office.  It was peaceful and normal in a way that much of Bran’s life had not been, and still wasn’t.

             “Tomorrow,” he said in a tone meant to preserve the atmosphere around them, “you and Leah can start looking into housing. 

            Jenny’s noncommittal hum made him frown.  “Eugenia Bellefleur…”

             “Yes, Marrok.”

             “Don’t take my affability for weakness.”

             “Never, Marrok,” she said as her body language subtly became more submissive: eyes lowered, shoulders rounded, voice tempered and mild.

             “And stop calling me Marrok,” he added.

             “Of course, sir.”

            He eyed her warily.  Jenny continued to watch the twins.

            Who, as if by some cue, finished their current piece and looked up for the first time in maybe two hours.  Blinking like dreamers come out of a long sleep, Rashida and Jamal Freeman’s eyes skated over Jenny to land on Bran.  “Sir…have you been standing there long?”

* * *

“Where are you going?”

            The shortness of Leah’s tone made Bran pause as he crossed in front of the stairs leading down to the first level of the house. 

            When Jenny Bellefleur said, “Out,” he could hear the shrug in her voice.

             “Out where?”

             “Just out.  Out there.”  He was sure Jenny was smiling.

             “Are you coming back?”

             “Of course.”

             “When?”  Bran was sure Jenny wouldn’t notice, but he could hear and feel Leah’s trepidation.

             “I’ll be back by morning.  Aren’t we going house hunting tomorrow?”

            Relief.  “Yes.  Of course.  Unless you plan on living in the woods,” Leah added flippantly.

             “Not full time.”

            A beat, then both women laughed.  “Tomorrow then,” from Leah.

             “Tomorrow,” Jenny Bellefleur confirmed.

            Bran didn’t stay to hear the door close behind her.

 

[in]Fin[ite]

**Author's Note:**

> So that happened...
> 
> Much of the inspiration for Leah came from [AvaMclean's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaMclean/pseuds/AvaMclean) work. Her Leah receives far more nuanced treatment in her work than she does in the source material. I can only hope I've done some of the same.
> 
> (Also, if someone has suggestions for tags, I'm happy to hear them.)


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